


Miracle on Baker Street

by deklava



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Play, Anal Sex, Fingerfucking, M/M, Oral Sex, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Rimming, Sibling Incest, Spanking, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-25
Updated: 2012-12-25
Packaged: 2017-11-22 10:00:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/608577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deklava/pseuds/deklava
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>As if on cue, a solid thump and groan sounded from upstairs. Mrs. Hudson winced.</i>
</p>
<p>"Do make them stop that, would you? Before I have to raise the rent again?”</p>
<p>Lestrade nodded. Only the Holmes brothers would find something to violently row over on Christmas Eve.</p>
<p>He went silently up the stairs, yielding to the police instinct to approach and assess before acting. The noise had stopped, but that didn’t mean that things had ended amicably.</p>
<p>The door was ajar, so he carefully peered into the flat. What he saw made his eyes pop and mouth go dry.</p>
<p>Mycroft had Sherlock pressed against the wall. But Lestrade could see immediately that they were not fighting.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [chasingriver](https://archiveofourown.org/users/chasingriver/gifts).



> **Beta:** chasingriver.... the best ever!!

Detective Inspector Greg Lestrade had been in a quandary all week. What Christmas gift could you possibly get for a man who has access to everything?

Mycroft liked vintage scotch, so on Christmas Eve Lestrade visited an informant who owned an upscale liquor shop. After obligatory pleasantries, he diplomatically threatened the man into selling him a bottle of 17 year old Balvenie at a price that a divorced policeman could afford. His supervisor wouldn’t approve of the misuse of power, but Mycroft certainly would.

Lestrade had known Mycroft Holmes for nearly six years, but their friendship was a recent phenomenon. They’d originally been united by a shared concern for Sherlock, but gradually they progressed from superficial greetings and the odd inconvenient kidnapping to Friday night drinks at the Diogenes Club.  

Mycroft was an attentive listener when Lestrade needed to vent about his pressure-cooker job. That in itself was therapeutic, but he occasionally went one step further and did something about the source of aggravation, like the time an abusive Detective Superintendent was ‘transferred’ to the British embassy in Zimbabwe. The bisexual Lestrade often wished that their friendship would develop into something more intimate, as he found the elder Holmes brother attractive. But Mycroft was firmly platonic in their dealings, and the policeman didn’t want to jeopardize their association.

After wrapping the Balvenie, he called Mycroft’s office. When Anthea told him that Mr. Holmes was visiting his brother, Lestrade decided to head over to Baker Street. He also had presents for Sherlock and John, and could deliver everything simultaneously.

There’d be no opportunity to be alone with Mycroft, he thought ruefully as he buckled his seat belt. But there was always New Year’s.


	2. Chapter 2

Mrs. Hudson met him at the door. She was clearly on her way out.

“Just going round to my sister’s for a few hours,” she chirped, waving two shopping bags loaded with presents. “Dr. Watson’s out too- visiting his sister, he said- but he’ll be back. Go on up. Sherlock’s in and Mycroft just dropped by. You’ve come at a perfect time, as they sound like they’ve started to row and Christmas Eve is no time for that.”

As if on cue, a solid thump and groan sounded from upstairs. Mrs. Hudson winced.

“Do make them stop that, would you? Before I have to raise the rent again?”

Lestrade nodded. Only the Holmes brothers would find something to violently row over on Christmas Eve.

He went silently up the stairs, yielding to the police instinct to approach and assess before acting. The noise had stopped, but that didn’t mean that things had ended amicably.

The door was ajar, so he carefully peered into the flat. What he saw made his eyes pop and mouth go dry.

Mycroft had Sherlock pressed against the wall. But Lestrade could see immediately that they were _not_ fighting. Sherlock’s eyes were closed and his breath came out in soft gasps as his older brother’s hand roamed under his shirt, tracing his ribcage and playing with his nipples.

“Dear me, Sherlock, you’re going to poke a hole in those trousers,” Mycroft murmured against the younger man’s neck. “Careful- they’re Mummy’s favourite. She'll be expecting you to wear them for Christmas dinner tomorrow.”

“It’s your fault.” Sherlock swallowed.

“Yes, I suppose I am partially to blame. You _are_ rather turned on by my ministrations, aren’t you?”

Sherlock wasn’t the only one. Lestrade’s abdomen tightened as something curled hotly inside: probably all the blood rushing to his crotch. His cock pushed against his zip as if demanding an unobstructed view of the proceedings. His reaction mystified him: he _should_ find an act of incest repulsive, no matter how attractive the participants were. At the very least he should be crestfallen that the man he desired was pleasuring someone else right in front of him. But all he wanted to do was throw the door open and join in.

“I can feel your cock twitching against my hip,” Mycroft continued, the explicit commentary sounding even filthier in his upper-class tones. A long white finger traced the outline of his little brother’s growing bulge. “It’s clearly aware that I’m going to fuck you _so hard_.”

Lestrade set the bag containing the presents on the floor. He was now fully erect, so he massaged himself through his trousers. The resulting surge of sensation made him bite his other wrist.

“Bedroom? Please?” Sherlock begged as he arched into the touch.

“I think not. It’s too far away and our mutual need is rather urgent.”

Mycroft stepped back, grabbed Sherlock’s wrists, and pushed him onto the green chair where the younger Holmes did most of his thinking. Sherlock gazed up at him, eyes hooded and tongue running slowly over his lips.

“Take off your clothes,” Mycroft ordered as he reached for his own belt. “But stay in the chair, beneath me. The position suits you.”

Sherlock attacked his shirt and trousers as if they were paining him, grunting and scattering buttons all over the rug. Mycroft, on the other hand, undressed quickly but elegantly, folding each item of expensive clothing and laying it on the table next to John’s chair. Lestrade’s eyes consumed every inch of gradually exposed flesh until Mycroft was naked and hovering over Sherlock, all wiry muscle and creamy, freckled skin. His perfectly formed cock jutted from its light nest of ginger hair, the tip already red and glossy.

Nudity didn’t diminish Mycroft Holmes at all, Lestrade observed: if anything, it added a raw edge to an already-commanding persona.

Sherlock certainly appeared to be intimidated. He was sprawling in the chair as ordered, nipples rosy and hard and cock curved upward against his flat belly. Lust had applied a flush to his normally alabaster skin.

“I’m ready,” he breathed, grey eyes fixed greedily on the cock that bobbed at mouth level.

“Mm, yes, I can see that.” Mycroft planted his hands on the chair arms and leaned in close, giving Lestrade a magnificent view of his arse. “But first there’s the unfinished business of your failure to attend Sunday dinner with Mummy. She was quite upset, you know.”

“Yes, I know, but John and I had a case. She should have understood.”

“She did, after that lovely call from John. But _you_ still have to be dealt with.”

He seized Sherlock’s wrists again. In one smoothly orchestrated movement, Mycroft sat in John’s chair and forced his brother across his knees. Lestrade could no longer see Sherlock’s face, but his glorious arse was on full display.

“You’re so wet.” Mycroft’s right hand slid between Sherlock’s thighs. Lestrade watched his thumb massage precome all over the glans, and his breath froze when Sherlock squirmed shamelessly, spreading his legs further.

“You’re a bastard for teasing me like this,” the younger Holmes complained, although he sounded far from angry.

“Then I shall stop teasing,” Mycroft said just before he raised his hand and brought it down hard on his brother’s buttocks.

The noise was painfully loud in the otherwise quiet flat. Sherlock’s legs jerked in a reflex motion before he slumped across Mycroft’s lap, moaning and sighing.

“Oh, Mycroft, yes, yes. Please… more.”

The rawness of his pleading went straight to Lestrade’s gut. Sweat beaded the policeman’s face as he squeezed and palmed his cock more urgently. He _should_ walk away, damn it. Just leave the presents in the hallway, go home, and wank.

But he couldn’t. Didn’t.

“Oh, Sherlock,” Mycroft sighed as he ran his palm up and down his brother’s undulating back. “You’re positively shameless. I wonder what John or Gregory would think if they saw you spread across my knees, being spanked like an ill-behaved schoolboy. I dare say they’d pay me to continue.”

Sherlock was getting desperate. “Mycroft, _please_. I need- ow, _fuck!_ ” He cried out as the elder Holmes delivered two more powerful slaps, each one actually leaving a scarlet handprint. Sherlock choked and rutted against his brother’s thigh. It was hard to tell whether he was trying to get away or signalling for more.

“More,” he finally gasped.

Lestrade took out his cock and pumped it, not caring that John might be back soon. He was thinking with a different kind of head now. The Holmes brothers were so ruthless and filthy and beautiful together, and he needed to keep watching.

Five more blows later, Sherlock’s arse was flaming red. When Mycroft paused after the last spank and drew his nails across the blood-hot skin, Sherlock keened and rutted more desperately against him, hips twisting and jerking as he sought pleasure to balance out the pain.

Mycroft smiled like a jackal. “Giving up so easily, little brother?” he purred before sucking two fingers into his mouth. They came out glistening with saliva.

“Fuck you, no, I just- ahhh!”

Sherlock howled when those fingers reached down and disappeared into his hole.

“Oh, _fuck!!_ Mmm, God!!”

Lestrade watched, lips parted, as Mycroft rotated his wrist, seeking and –judging by his brother’s reaction- finding Sherlock’s prostate. The screams that erupted would have brought Mrs. Hudson on the run if she’d been home.

“Mycroft, please, please! “ Sherlock braced his palms on the floor and pushed back onto the intruding digits. “Oooh, right there, right there.”

“Fucking yourself on my fingers- how positively wanton. I’m not sure I’ll be enough to satisfy you now.” Mycroft paused. Then his blue eyes flew to the doorway, where Lestrade’s face could be partially seen through the crack. “Thank goodness Gregory is here to help.”


	3. Chapter 3

When Mycroft beckoned with his unoccupied hand, Lestrade pushed the door open the rest of the way and crossed the threshold. His cock still protruded from his lowered zip, but covering up would have been laughable at that point.

Sherlock had stilled briefly, but when Mycroft pressed his fingers in all the way to the third knuckle, he went right back to writhing and moaning. “I hope you intend to be quiet or useful,” the younger man grunted at Lestrade before lowering his head and losing himself in the waves of pleasure.

Mycroft gestured to the other chair. “Do sit down, Gregory.”

Lestrade did as ordered. His moves were slow and mechanical as he struggled to believe that this was all real. All he managed to say was “Mycroft” before his throat was too dry for him to continue.

The elder Holmes surveyed him: Lestrade knew that his unsteady fingers, flushed face, and mile-wide pupils gave everything away.

“It’s quite all right.” Mycroft’s voice was gentle, despite the aggressive rhythm he used to finger his brother’s arse. “I know what you need.”

Fuck, it was glorious to not have to actually say it. To present himself to Mycroft, who just _knew_ , made Lestrade giddy with anticipation and relief.

“You look warm,” Mycroft continued. “Please follow our example and undress.”

Lestrade loosened his tie.

Without taking his eyes off the man stripping naked at his command, Mycroft slid his fingers out of Sherlock’s body and pushed his brother to the floor with enough just force to be assertive.

“Your mouth, if you please,” was all he had to say.

Sherlock practically dove for the large cock waving at him: he lavished it with long licks and sloppy kisses before sucking it down his throat inch by inch.

Lestrade shed his clothes and waited, not sure what to do next. His sex-flushed face and chest and stiff prick gave away his eagerness to join in, but common sense whispered that a direct invitation was advisable. Mycroft probably liked his threesomes the same way he liked everything else in life: performed under his direction.

Sherlock was obviously a virtuoso when it came to sucking cock: Mycroft caught his breath more loudly than dignity would ordinarily permit and his fingers snaked through his brother’s curls. “You are indeed a wonder, dear brother,” he murmured before turning his attention back to the naked DI in the chair facing his.

“Do you like what you are seeing, Gregory?” It wasn’t a question, as Mycroft already knew the answer. It was an invitation to confess.

Lestrade found his voice. “Yes.”

“Sherlock is doing a superb job of pleasing me. Would you like to do the same?”

“Oh God, yes.”

“Wonderful.” Mycroft’s lashes fluttered when his brother’s tongue teased the sensitive spot under the glans. “Kindly kneel, then.”

Lestrade astounded himself at how quickly he slid out of the chair onto the rug.

“Nicely done. Now crawl toward me until you are directly behind my brother.”

Lestrade obeyed, feeling ecstatic with surrender. He was so hard that his cock pressed against his belly, practically disembowelling him.  The closer he got to Sherlock, the stronger the unique scent of an aroused man became. It caused him to stiffen even more, sending a dull ache through his loins.

“Look at me.”

Lestrade did. Mycroft’s face was composed enough, but his pupils were enormous and sweat was collecting on his brow.

“I would like to see you worship Sherlock the way you want to worship me. Are you willing?”

“Yes.”

“Marvellous.” Mycroft’s knuckles whitened as he pushed Sherlock’s head down further. The younger man gurgled, but didn’t choke. “Please eat his arse then.”

Lestrade couldn’t contain his smile. He had been dying to get back at the arrogant, condescending, _beautiful_ consulting detective for years. Now he had his chance.

Mycroft had merely asked him to eat Sherlock’s arse. The lordly Holmes had never actually told him to start _immediately_. He wanted to hear that arrogant young git beg for it, to want his tongue so bad that he’d say or do anything to make it happen.

After parting Sherlock’s cheeks, Lestrade lowered his head and licked at that infamously sensitive spot behind the younger man’s balls, letting his nose brush against the now-exposed pucker. His smile returned when Sherlock whimpered around his brother’s cock and arched his back.

Mycroft pulled Sherlock off his cock and cradled his brother’s pleasure-slack face in his hands. “Tell him- tell _us_ what you want, little brother.”

Lestrade could feel Sherlock shudder so violently that the young man’s soul must have felt it. “I want his tongue in me. Eating me. Please, Mycroft. Please, Lestrade.”

The elder Holmes leaned forward. “Does his mouth feel good?”

“Fuck, yes.”

Those two words, uttered by a voice ragged with need, had Lestrade shivering with the effort to not come. He lowered his head once more, flattened his tongue, and licked a broad, wet stripe over Sherlock’s hole.

He couldn’t see Sherlock’s face, but he could feel that long white body go tense and hear the moan that hit the ceiling like a stray bullet. The next noise Sherlock made was a slippery gulp, indicating that his older brother had commandeered his mouth again.

It had been years since Lestrade did this to another man, but all the scorching memories came back as he grabbed those lean buttocks and spread them wider. After another long, tortuous lick, he pressed his lips to the pink hole and probed with his tongue until he felt the muscle relax. Then he alternated tongue thrusts with delicate bites around the rim. It didn’t take long before Sherlock’s trembling exploded into full-blown shaking and the young man was pleading into his brother’s cock.

“Stop.”

Mycroft’s voice was controlled, but when Lestrade looked up, surprised, he saw a fierce, excited light in the man’s eyes.

The next command also consisted of one word.

“Bedroom.”


	4. Chapter 4

For two brothers who fought constantly, Mycroft and Sherlock were deviously cooperative in bed.

Lying between them, Lestrade wasn’t complaining. Not when Sherlock’s tongue was lapping sticky circles around his blood-fat cockhead while Mycroft scissored his arse open with two slick and talented fingers. Each inward plunge included a heavenly prostate massage, which made his thighs shake as heat flooded his body.

He wondered if he had died without his knowledge and gone to heaven or a special kind of hell, because things like this just couldn’t happen in real life… could they?

“Ready, Gregory?” Mycroft murmured against his ear as he slowly drew his fingers out.

Lestrade could only nod.  His stretched hole felt so open and exposed that he pushed back against Mycroft’s warm body, needing to be filled again. He both heard and felt Sherlock’s furry chuckle around his cock.

“Wonderful,” Mycroft said. He shifted on the mattress, and Lestrade heard the deliciously obscene sound of the other man masturbating with a fistful of lube. Then one fine but strong hand pulled his cheeks apart while the other guided a generously-sized cock into his body.

Lestrade fisted the sheets into a tangled mess as his sphincter trembled and clenched around the intruder. “Oh, _Christ._ That’s… that’s… give me a minute.”

Mycroft’s hips stilled. Sherlock, on the other hand, lavished more direct attention on the sensitive tip of the DI’s penis, poking his tongue into the slit and massaging the underside with his slick thumb. The acceleration of pleasure drew Lestrade’s attention away from the pain of penetration until it subsided to a pleasant, stretching ache.

“You’re marvellously tight,” Mycroft whispered into the DI’s neck as his palm rubbed soothing circles across the other man’s belly. “Breathe. Immerse yourself in it. In what we’re doing to you.”

Between that gentle hand and voice and Sherlock’s amazing mouth, Lestrade’s body quickly acclimatised itself to its first fucking in twenty years. He relaxed everywhere except in his crotch and let out a guttural groan.

“Intense…oh fuck, Mycroft. Okay, I’m good. Please….” He moaned again. “Please fuck me.”

Mycroft slid his cock halfway out, angling his hips so that he caught Lestrade’s prostate on the way. But instead of pushing back in, he held that position.

“I’ve thought about this often, Gregory. I was perfectly aware that when you finally came to me, it would be exactly like this.” Mycroft licked his lips. “Spontaneous. Hot. Tight. I didn’t expect my brother to be a participant, but Sherlock does add something to the proceedings, doesn’t he?”

Sherlock let Lestrade’s cock slip from his mouth. “Are you going to fuck him or just lie there providing commentary for the rest of the evening?”

Mycroft’s response was to reach down, seize Sherlock’s sweaty curls, and hold his head in place. Then he thrust back into Lestrade with such force that the DI’s cock shot into Sherlock’s mouth like a bullet, making the detective gag and choke.

“I believe I shall fuck him now, little brother. Thank you for the incentive.”

Lestrade didn’t care who heard as his cries ranged in pitch from soft whimpers to shrill shouts. He could barely think or breathe as one brother fucked him while the other, after the gag reflex was conquered, sucked him to perfection.  Sherlock even fondled the policeman’s tightening balls and applied a skilled fingertip to the pressure point in his perineum, making him clench hard around Mycroft’s cock and his vision go fuzzy around the edges.

It was so much, so much.

It was _perfect._

Mycroft wrapped his arms around Lestrade’s chest and hooked one leg around his hip for better leverage. “So perfect in your surrender,” he sighed. Lestrade turned his head, blindly seeking a kiss. When their lips met and his breath was consumed as greedily as his body, the DI sobbed, “Fuck, Mycroft, I’m going to come!”

Mycroft’s response was to pick up the pace until Lestrade was reduced to nonstop gasping. “Forgive me if I go first,” the elder Holmes declared just before he stilled, grunted rather inelegantly, and dug his fingers into Lestrade’s sides. “Oh! Yes!”

Lestrade felt gushing semen fill his body. It had been so long since he’d been used hard like this, and he screamed his pleasure at the ceiling.  He was about to join Mycroft in orgasm when the elder Holmes gripped the base of his cock, keeping the eruption temporarily at bay. Sherlock pulled back at once and sat back on his heels, stroking himself and watching the proceedings with greedy interest.

“No, Gregory,” Mycroft breathed as he pulled out carefully. “Turn around and look at me. I wish to see your face as you come.”

Breathing raggedly, Lestrade rolled over and threw his leg across Mycroft’s waist. When their stares, which were dark with lust, met, Mycroft grasped both their cocks in his warm hand and stroked with supernatural finesse, using his previous release to slick the way.

“Sherlock,” he said, voice harshening as his composure crumbled, “be so kind as to return the favour Gregory showed you in the sitting room, will you?”

Sherlock shifted on the mattress and grasped Lestrade’s buttocks. The policeman shouted as a wet, strong tongue snaked between them and penetrated his hole.

“Oh, _fuck_!”

His entire body was slippery with sweat and shaking with mounting pleasure. He felt climax rushing to the fore again, but this time Mycroft didn’t interfere. On the contrary: the moment he felt Lestrade’s cock stutter and jerk in his grasp, the elder Holmes tightened his fist and added an extra snap to his wrist on the upstroke.

“Gregory,” he breathed against Lestrade’s face as they came in unison, sperm exploding over their chests and bellies. Lestrade shouted wordlessly, the orgasm’s strength and force leaving him semi-coherent. He heard Mycroft sigh in delight as the elder Holmes milked wad after wad out of him; looking down through fevered eyes, he saw their combined releases dripping lazily over those long white fingers. The air between them was hot and musky with the smell of sweat, body-warmed cologne, and freshly released testosterone.

Lestrade’s inner muscles spasmed around Sherlock’s still-probing tongue during the aftershocks, causing the residue of Mycroft’s first release to spray all over the younger man’s face. He wondered briefly if he should apologise, but somehow couldn’t find the words.


	5. Chapter 5

Lestrade had no idea how long he had been lying in Mycroft’s arms, feeling blissfully empty and content, when Sherlock sat up, crawled across the mattress, and straddled both men. Lestrade cracked his eyes open and took in the crossed arms, sperm-crusted cheekbones, and decidedly petulant expression.

“I believe it’s my turn to be fucked,” he groused. “But it also appears that neither of you will be able to sustain an erection for the next half-century.”

He was probably right, Lestrade acknowledged. But it was equally obvious that Sherlock was annoyed and refusing to budge until the aforementioned half-century had passed. Even his cock was jutting at the two men in an accusatory manner, clear fluid stringing from its tip.

“I believe that’s a challenge, little brother.” Mycroft gently disengaged himself from Lestrade and reached for the tube of lubricant. “And we accept.”

“We do?” Lestrade’s brow furrowed. He brushed cooling sweat off his face. “Sorry, Sherlock, but you’ll have to wait a bit for anything more from me. I’m not twenty anymore.”

“Nor am I,” Mycroft said cheerfully as he slicked up his fingers. “But we can still give my brother what he’s so obviously craving.”

Sherlock uncrossed his arms, his demeanor swiftly changing from sullen to eager. His tongue wet his lower lip and one hand went down to grasp his cock as he watched his brother’s digits turn mirror-shiny with lube. When Mycroft sat up and ordered him to turn around and present his arse, he obeyed immediately. The sight of his upturned buttocks, spread thighs, and stiff cock made Lestrade’s mouth go dry, even if the older man’s penis was still too weary to do more than twitch in appreciation.

“Your hand, please,” Mycroft directed.

Lestrade obeyed. Smiling deviously, the elder Holmes squirted the cool jelly onto the DI’s index and middle fingers before guiding them knuckle-deep into Sherlock’s waiting hole.

“There are many ways to accomplish a satisfactory fucking, Gregory,” Mycroft explained as his own digits slipped in alongside Lestrade’s, stretching Sherlock’s anus so wide that the skin whitened. “Notice how my normally cantankerous sibling is NOT complaining.”

Sherlock definitely wasn’t. The four fingers invading him were, combined, as firm and thick as any cock. He rode them eagerly, groans and the squelching of warm lube marking his progress.

“Ohhhh,” he groaned, clenching down. “F-fuck, oh God, please.” When Mycroft finally pressed against his prostate, his thighs quaked so badly he nearly fell over. “That’s it, that’s it, fuck me, fuck me….”

Lestrade joined Mycroft in massaging and playing with that one spot that turned the mouthy and arrogant detective into a begging mess. Their combined fingertips worked Sherlock fast and hard, the nonstop pressure first making him babble, then scream, and then finally come all over his belly and their outstretched legs.

When he slumped to the side, Mycroft and Lestrade carefully took their fingers out. They watched as Sherlock’s hole spasmed repeatedly, its rim swollen and wet, before the muscle reluctantly tightened again.

“How was that for a fucking, Sherlock?” Lestrade asked, unable to resist a bit of a gloat.

The detective raised his head briefly. “Acceptable.”

“He means,” Mycroft sighed, “that he’s too sated to move until further notice.”

Lestrade wiped his fingers on the ruined sheets and draped his arm across Mycroft’s chest. “I know the feeling.”

“And you shall know it again. Frequently, if I have anything to say about it.” The elder Holmes rested his cheek against the DI’s damp silver hair. “Merry Christmas, Gregory.”

For Greg Lestrade, it definitely was now.


End file.
